A Killing Frost

by Hannah Alexander

  Tyrell closed his eyes. “You weren’t driving when the car ran off the road.”

  “No. As soon as Amy got into the car, she asked if I’d had the brakes checked. I told her they were fine. I didn’t tell her I hadn’t gotten them checked, and she didn’t push it. I kept telling myself I could do it, that I could drive, I wasn’t too inebriated, and the brakes were fine. She always did tend to worry too much.

  “We were well past the suburbs of St. Louis, with Amy sleeping beside me, when she woke up suddenly and sniffed the air.”

  Jama glanced toward him.

  “And then what happened?” His voice didn’t sound right in his own ears.

  “I’m sorry, Tyrell. You’ll never know how sorry.”

  “What happened?” He hated the hard edge in his voice.

  “She was so mad that night.” Jama’s voice trembled, grew softer. “She was going to turn us around and drive us straight back to the apartment, but I begged her to continue on to River Dance. I’d already gotten us that far, and it was only a little over an hour home, and I kept reminding her you would be there this year. Either way, she would have to drive. So she went on.”

  “You could have slept in the car,” Tyrell said.

  Jama was silent for a moment, obviously retreating from his anger.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You have to understand I’m just living this for the first time.”

  “We could have done a lot of things differently,” Jama said. “We could have stopped at a bed-and-breakfast we had just passed. But I was so eager to get to River Dance, and I’d handled the traffic in St. Louis just fine.” Jama bowed her head and rubbed her face with her fingertips. He knew she was exhausted physically and emotionally.

  She looked at him again. “All I could think about was seeing you. We only had twenty-four hours off. She did it for me, Tyrell. She knew how I felt about you even then.”

  “The brakes?”

  “I’ve always wondered about that. The police report stated that there were no skid marks on the road where we went off. I never knew if that was because Amy fell asleep and never woke up, or if the brakes failed to work, because I was asleep, too.”

  She fell silent except for the shivering. He could think of nothing to say to make it easier for her.

  In spite of every promise he had given Jama, Tyrell couldn’t deny his anger. Then grief hit him afresh. His beloved sister had died a senseless death. And the woman he loved with all his heart had been the cause. He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.

  He started the engine and turned on the heater.

  “I couldn’t bear to lose the only family I had,” she said quietly.

  “But you distanced yourself from us. And by not telling us, you lost the support you could have had from family.”

  Jama looked at him. “What would I have lost if I’d admitted what I did?”

  He was silent. What could he say? He needed time to digest this.

  “I couldn’t face it,” she said. “When I came back from Utah, I visited as often as I could, and told myself that brief connection was enough.”

  “And then we started dating,” he said, still regretting the vehemence in his voice. Still unable to do anything about it. All this time, he’d been so sure they could work through any problem, as long as she felt safe enough to share it with him. But right now she couldn’t possibly feel safe.

  Neither did he.

  “I had a life-changing turn-around in Utah,” she said. “I came back a new person, and I knew it. But, Tyrell, I wasn’t raised in a Christian home as you were. It took me some time after becoming a believer to grow and learn. I’ve been more and more convinced as time went on that I would have to tell the family my part in Amy’s death. Those verses I just quoted to you made a huge impact on me. But it’s been hard.” Her voice caught. She took a deep breath.

  “When you and I started spending more time together last year, it felt so right and good that I just allowed myself to enjoy it. I knew we were getting closer. I’d already loved you for so long that…I didn’t think that…

  “I kept telling myself there would be time. You’d never even hinted at marriage before.”

  It was getting hot inside, so Tyrell switched the motor off again. The silence surrounded him and pressed him down. He could think of nothing to say.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It was the silence that hurt Jama the most. No matter how often she told herself she deserved Tyrell’s response, no matter how many times she’d rehearsed this explanation in her mind, she hadn’t prepared herself for the silence. Cold. Rejecting.

  Some people thought she was tough. So many old friends had told her how proud they were of her. Hometown orphan who surprised everybody and did well. Strong, determined Jama Sue Keith.

  But part of her wasn’t strong at all. Part of her was still that little seven-year-old child pounding on the door, screaming for a mother who didn’t want her. Would she always be outside?

  Well? Didn’t she deserve to be?

  “When you proposed,” she said after the silence became more than she could bear, “I was shocked. My time was up. I knew I couldn’t live with my secret and live with you, but I’d always told myself there was time.”

  Now she wished it wasn’t dark. She needed to see his expression.

  “I also realized that, not only would I have to tell you, but by telling you, I’d also be telling the rest of the family.”

  “You think so little of me that you don’t believe I can keep a confidence?” Still the roughness in his voice.

  She winced, unable to bear much more. “I guess I had that coming. Look, we’re both tired, and I’ve got a long drive to Columbia.” She reached for the door handle.

  He touched her arm, and she jerked.

  “You’re not driving back there tonight. You can stay at the ranch. I have my own apartment, and you can sleep in the house.”

  “I can’t, Tyrell.” She thought she’d be able to handle this, but-

  “You can’t? So you’re going to risk having the Mercer family lose another loved one to sleep deprivation?”

  She winced, realizing that, somewhere deep inside, she had held out hope that he would forgive her. Not that she expected marriage-she’d never been foolish enough to harbor that hope-but that somehow he might be able to give her absolution after all this time. She would rather sleep in her car than go back to the ranch with him like this.

  She had placed him on too high a pedestal. He was bound to tumble off someday. But tonight of all times…

  “Now you see why it wouldn’t work for us.” She grasped the latch and squeezed. She moved from his touch and stepped out. “I think the irresistible force just met the immovable object.”

  Before he could respond, she closed the door and stepped toward her car.

  Someone was standing in the shadows beside the Subaru. She froze.

  “It’s me, Dr. Keith.” Familiar voice. Zelda Benedict.

  The rush of relief mingled with the pain, a shock to Jama’s system. “Zelda, can’t a couple have a little privacy-”

  “I wasn’t spying. Listen, did you ever get a key to the clinic? Eric hired somebody to replace the window, the young coot, and I don’t want to be the next one to have to break out-”

  “What’s wrong?”

  The passenger window of Tyrell’s Durango slid down. “Jama?”

  Jama closed her eyes briefly. No coldness now, just concern. Tyrell was back in character. How long would that last?

  “Nothing,” she said. “Go home. I’ll stay with Zelda tonight.”

  “Sure thing,” Zelda called to him, eyeing Jama in the dim glow of the security light. “Though I think a bath would be in order first. Clothes and all.”

  “Jama?” Tyrell asked, his voice softer now. “You’re sure?”

  “Of course,” Jama said. “Get some sleep.” Oh, yeah, as if.

  Doriann felt a little ill. The boat kept turning in slow circles, a
nd judging by the speed she was moving through the fog, she had to be going at least as fast as the tractor when Grandpa plowed. Probably faster. The Missouri River was higher than usual.

  She had realized, far too late, that the man’s voice she’d kept hearing behind her when she was on land wasn’t Clancy. It couldn’t have been, because Clancy leaped from the bushes at her only a few moments after she’d last heard the man in the distance.

  Somebody else was out there, probably looking for her. FBI? She hoped they found Clancy.

  “Jesus, if you’ll just get me out of this, I’ll never shove Ajay into the pool again, and…”

  Doriann suddenly realized she’d been praying wrong all day. She’d been bargaining with God to get out of this horrible mess. Aunt Renee said not to bargain with God, because everything you had belonged to God anyway, so it was like offering a bribe to a person who had given you all your money to begin with.

  “Well, then, God, I guess I’ll just have to ask for mercy,” Doriann said softly. That was what Mom said when she missed church Sunday after Sunday because of work.

  She listened for the sound of Humphrey’s howl, but she knew he couldn’t have kept up with her. She thought again about the dog’s attack on Clancy. And wow. Humphrey was afraid of everybody, but he’d charged a killer to defend her.

  She thought about how she’d escaped the swamp, about Humphrey finding her in the cave and keeping her warm. She thought about reaching this boat at just the right time.

  Maybe she was just a sassy kid who didn’t mind her parents, but she knew what mercy looked like-a sunset. She knew what it smelled like, sometimes, too-swamp water and cow poop and dog breath. It felt like blisters on her feet, and a rough wooden boat beneath her bottom, and sweat frozen in her hair.

  Now if God would just keep her from floating all the way to the Mississippi River, she’d be happy.

  Zelda led Jama into her house, where the aroma of some kind of Southwestern dish filled the air. Jama remembered that Zelda had always loved spicy food, even though it gave her heartburn. She’d probably stop having heartburn if she stopped smoking a cigar every night, but she also probably knew that.

  “You going to tell me why you need to get into the clinic?” Jama asked.

  “I’ll do better than that. I’m going to show you.” Zelda led her down the hallway to the back bedroom. She turned and looked at Jama, and the lines of her face were more prominent than Jama had ever seen them, pulled down by some heavy sadness.

  Opening the door, Zelda called out, “Debra? Honey, you need to wake up now.”

  Debra? Benedict? Zelda’s granddaughter? Jama stepped into the room as Zelda switched on the overhead light. The smell of unwashed body and dirty socks wafted into the air.

  The body in the bed was turned away from the door. Sharp, nearly fleshless shoulder blades were prominent beneath a floral blouse that was obviously Zelda’s. From what Jama remembered of Debra-she was the age of the Mercer twins, several grades behind Jama in school-she had always preferred black T-shirts with skull and crossbones insignias and threadbare jeans, not fuchsia and orange and lime-green tropical pullovers.

  The still form stirred only when Zelda placed a hand on her shoulder and gently nudged her.

  “Turn over here and let the doctor take a look at you, hon. I want an expert opinion.” Zelda motioned for Jama to join her at the twin-size bed.

  Debra rolled over onto her back, and Jama was stunned by her appearance, as if a Halloween mask had been painted onto her face. Her eyes were barely visible from the swollen, discolored flesh around them. Her blond hair, fuzzy and damaged from what appeared to be too many applications of hair color, was matted with blood on the right side.

  Debra looked up at Jama and nodded a greeting. “Haven’t seen you in years.” Her gold-hazel eyes looked weary, as if she could barely keep them open. Her forehead-the only part of her face that wasn’t swollen-had wrinkles. She wasn’t even thirty.

  “I’ve been keeping a close eye on her,” Zelda said. “I’m afraid of a concussion, some broken ribs, maybe broken facial bones and soft tissue damage. She won’t let me take her to a hospital. I’ve tried.”

  “I don’t need a hospital. I’m tired, and I have a migraine. The swelling will go down.” Debra grimaced, and Jama noted that she was missing a couple of teeth.

  “You know what I think?” Zelda asked. “I think she’s found herself another loser who takes his lack of manhood out on a defenseless woman.”

  Without asking permission, Zelda reached down and pulled up the shirt to reveal bruises over Debra’s ribs. “She came in like this about an hour ago, won’t tell me what really happened.”

  “I did tell you, Grandma, but you didn’t believe me.” Debra’s voice had lowered and roughened over the years, and now it grated. “I was cycling the Katy and some idiot on an ATV ran me off the trail. There is not even supposed to be motorized stuff on that trail. Now my bike’s in the river and I had to walk to town.”

  Jama caught a whiff of Debra’s breath. It confirmed her suspicion, and she felt sick.

  “Debra, you need a medical exam now,” Jama said. “We can drive you to-”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve gotta sleep off this migraine first, okay? If I move, I’ll throw up.” Debra pulled the sheet up over her head, then turned her face to the wall with a grunt of pain. “Just let me sleep. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  Zelda crossed her arms. “Well, folderol. Jama, I know we can’t force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do unless we do an involuntary commitment, but can’t you make her see reason?”

  Jama studied the bony figure on the bed. “The nausea concerns me. Any signs of dizziness?”

  “Leave me alone,” Debra rasped. “It’s the migraine. Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

  “Could I at least give you a quick exam?” Jama asked.

  “I’m great, okay? I couldn’t’ve walked all the way here if I’d been dying, could I? I’ll be up doing my daily run first thing in the morning if you’ll just let me get some sleep!”

  Jama studied the weak and helpless woman on the bed. Zelda was right, a man could have done this. It had been a hard thing to see over the years. Zelda’s daughter had become involved with an older man. A drug pusher. She’d had two children by him, then died of an overdose when her kids were in their teens.

  Zelda had done the best she could with her grandchildren after that, but the legacy of addiction had left its mark on Debra.

  Debra was once a beautiful girl, with straight, golden-brown hair and dimples in her cheeks. Jama remembered seeing her wave from the float at the homecoming parade as queen in her senior year-wearing a black dress, of course. This was barely a shell of the girl she’d once been.

  Now she looked like death.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Tyrell negotiated the private, quarter-mile drive to the house on automatic pilot. This lane had been lined with cars when he left. Now it was empty. All was quiet, except the storm taking place in his mind.

  He parked in the circle drive instead of the garage. There was no reason for it, nothing he could do for Doriann now, but something kept him on the alert. He wanted to be able to get wherever he might be needed at a moment’s notice.

  He sat looking out over the shadowed rows that covered the hillside on which the house was built. He longed for a warm wind to blow away the chill in his heart, the same way the vines and trees had been saved.

  Everything was shattering. Dad, the constant strong presence in Tyrell’s life-who’d grounded him in the solid love for the land-lay helpless in a hospital bed. Doriann was still lost, and the family was forced to depend on strangers to find her.

  And Jama. A deep sigh escaped Tyrell as he rested his forehead against the steering wheel. He felt as if she’d died. In essence, she had, since the image that he’d always carried of her in his heart had been destroyed with her confession. The Jama he knew would never have placed her best f
riend in a situation that might get her killed.

  He remembered wondering earlier if the rebel still existed in Jama. And he’d hoped that, in some ways, it did.

  “Welcome to reality, Mercer,” he murmured. The picture of rebellion wasn’t so appealing in a zoom shot.

  Zelda had always been a determined lady, but as Jama stood beside her in the bedroom where Debra lay, she could feel defeat roll off the poor woman in waves.

  “I’m sorry,” Jama said. “We can’t force Debra to do anything. I just hate to see that pretty face damaged. When the swelling goes down, we may see more problems than we can right now.”

  Zelda looked at Jama and shook her head. “You could show her some moves, Jama. Teach her how to fight back.”

  “If you two are going to keep talking like you don’t believe me-”

  “Sure, I could teach her,” Jama said, “but right now she needs medical attention. Debra, if I could just check your vitals, your pulse-”

  “No!” Debra growled.

  “Okay, then, will you at least let me walk you across the street to the clinic in the morning? We can get some shots with our new X-ray machine, see if there’s anything we need to be doing.”

  “I’ll be there,” Debra said. “Just please close the door behind you as you leave.”

  Zelda turned to lead Jama down the hallway. The door remained open.

  Jama cast a final glance back toward the bed, and felt a stirring of unease. She shook it off. Coincidences happened. Just because Zelda’s rough-living granddaughter had arrived injured on the same night that a “skinny blond” member of a killing duo had been in an auto accident nearby, it didn’t necessarily mean anything. It couldn’t. Debra was no killer.

  Jama remembered seeing Debra visit the lonely people in the nursing home-the ones no one else visited. She’d once nursed two baby orphan raccoons and then released them back into the wild.